


she's just in the background

by Shadowstar



Series: The Other Side of the Rainbow [8]
Category: Supergirl (TV 2015), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Derek Hale is Stiles Stilinski's Anchor, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Misunderstandings, Protective Kara Danvers, Protective Sheriff Stilinski, Season/Series 05, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-13 20:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10521237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowstar/pseuds/Shadowstar
Summary: Kara just wants to help. More than anything. Even when she manages to stick her foot in it, repeatedly.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Cool Kids" by Echosmith:  
> Nothing in this world could  
> Ever bring them down  
> Yeah, they're invincible  
>  **And she's just in the background**
> 
> Couple of notes regarding season 6: So, as you can tell by the tags, I am refusing to use the name they gave Sheriff Stilinski in the show. Mostly because I don't want to go back and change it, plus it just. He doesn't seem like a Noah to me. Also, as a heads up? I am kind of sticking pretty close to the plot of 5 (both 5a and 5b) BUT! I will not be doing season 6. In fact, after I get done with 5b, I may just end it there and do an epilogue.
> 
>  **Unbeta'd**. If there is anyone willing to help me with that, shoot me a message; I would greatly appreciate it.

When she was little, her mother would tell her stories of shifters in the desert. Stories that were more like folktales, fairytales, warnings of what-might-be. They weren’t the only ones, of course; she also had learned history, engineering, and stories about the stars, both fictional and non.

 When she’d been sitting and listening to those lovely stories, she had never imagined, never _dreamed_ that she would be here, now. That she would be in a place where fairytales and the stories her mother told her as a little girl would be _real_. And more than just real, more than just dreams; this was a virtual nightmare. Bodies being stolen, people dying, magick making people share memories of lives they didn’t live; it’s all something that keeps her up late, and gets her up early.

 No one else in the house is up yet when she pads slowly, carefully into the kitchen, the faint pink light of dawn just beginning to give way to brilliant sunlight that floods the room. Okay, well, she’d _thought_ she was the only one awake. She jumps almost out of her skin when she finds Stiles’s father sitting at the kitchen table, reading the morning newspaper.

 "Mr. Stilinski, good morning,” she greets, eyes shooting towards the back of the couch where Sergeant Stewart is still snoring softly.

“Good morning, Kara,” the older man greets over the edge of the paper. “There’s coffee in the pot, if you’d like some.”

“Thanks,” she pours herself a cup and then sits at the table across from him, adjusting the glasses that slip down her nose. The coffee is hot, and definitely tastes infinitely better than what is served at the DEO. She hums softly under her breath as she sinks into the chair, soaking up the warmth from it; she doesn’t normally get cold, not like Alex does, but there’s still something _comforting_ about drinking something hot and letting it fill her with warmth from the inside out.

 “So. Another… Earth?” the sheriff suddenly speak up, making her blink at him and adjust her glasses, even though they haven’t gone anywhere.

“That’s how it was explained, yeah,” she says with an easy shrug as she lets her fingers curl carefully around the borrowed mug. “I don’t… really get it, honestly? I mean. I’ve met people from other Earths before, but. But not quite like _this_.”

The man blinks at her, blue eyes telling her just how much he doesn’t understand about it all. It reflects her own confusion and she finds it easy to shrug again, even as a smile spreads over her face.

“Yeah, I don’t really get it either. I’m not… I’m not a scientist like my sister. And even _she_ didn’t really get the explanation that Barry gave the first time,” she admits with a chuckle, taking another sip of her coffee.

“So, people have ended up on your Earth like Stiles, before?” he asks, curious, getting up and heading towards the fridge. He pulls out things to make a simple breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast, but he pauses. “Ah. I have to ask; I know Stiles has said that werewolves tend to eat more. Does that apply to you and your…cousin, was it?”

Something in her chest unfurls, warm and fluttering and almost excited. This man, he was a _father_. He reminds her of Jor-El, of mornings spent with her aunt and uncle when her parents had to work, when Aunt Astra was away. He reminds her, too, of Jerimiah, and she suddenly wishes that Alex could be here to experience this with her. To have this feeling again; of safety, of understanding, of knowing that she could probably tell him anything, and he would help her through it.

“I don’t know how much werewolves eat. But from what he was explaining, it’s pretty similar,” she tells the man with a warm smile. And if it’s tinged with sadness, bordering on bittersweet, well. No one would blame her for it.

The older man nods slowly, thoughtfully, before pulling down a bowl and starting in the process of making scrambled eggs.

The kitchen is quiet with the sounds of the sheriff cooking, and she finds it easy to fall into almost a meditative state just in the easiness of it. It reminds her of when she’d been a teenager, when it had been just her and Alex and Eliza, getting ready for school. The three of them had moved around each other in the kitchen easily, setting things out for a quick family breakfast before she and Alex had to dash out the door to school. It’s been years since she felt drawn to that; she’s worked at CatCo for almost three years now, and never seems to have the time for a proper breakfast anymore, not like this.

It makes her wonder, too, if Stiles and his dad would move so easily with each other. Given the teenagers propensity for tripping over his own feet, maybe not so much.

“I recognize that look; how many things did Stiles break while he was on your Earth?” the sheriff’s voice breaks into her thoughts, making her blink and the smile she’s hiding behind the edge of her cup curling up further.

“Not too much,” she admits, laughing. “I think it was more his pride that got bruised.” His chuckle is agreement enough, and she ducks her head to try not to show just how far the amused grin has spread over her own face.

“Are we talking about Stiles breaking things?” Stewart asks as he comes in, scrubbing a hand over his tired, dark face.

“Yeah. His dad was just asking about how many things he broke,” she explains to the familiar soldier. She’s worked with him on a few missions, though nothing particularly spectacular. She knows that he always has her sister’s back, though, and that’s something she definitely appreciates.

At her comment, he grunts in amusement, shaking his head as he accepts the cup of coffee that is passed to him, taking a gulp of it before he speaks again.

“Are we talking about on purpose, or things he broke because he tripped into them?” Stewart muses, earning a heavy, put-upon sigh from Stiles’s father, who clearly knows what they’re talking about.

“You’d think that he would have grown into himself by now,” the older man laments as he pulls out some bacon from the pan.

“It’s okay. It can’t be any worse than when I was growing up,” she promises him, shrugging. “I still tend to break a lot of jars, too, if I’m not paying attention.”

The man beside her chuckles while the sheriff turns to her with raised eyebrows. She grins and, once she’s set her cup on the table, wiggles her fingers at him.

“Being half awake and trying to open jelly for toast usually leads to jelly all over me and the floor,” she explains before scooping up her coffee again and taking a drink of it.

The older man continues to stare for a long moment before he chuckles, shaking his head as he turns back to the stove.

“Yeah, okay, I can concede that one,” the man chuckles as he adds bacon to the pan after putting more bacon on the paper towel-lined plate on the counter at his elbow.

“I’m going to grab a quick shower before breakfast,” Stewart suddenly declares before he stands, heading in the direction of the stairs.

“Towels are in the hall closet to the left of the bathroom,” the sheriff calls after him, before going back to cooking the bacon.

A comfortable silence falls over the kitchen, then, with the popping of bacon grease the only sound, punctuated by the occasional sound of a cup being scraped along the table top. But all too soon, she’s finished her coffee, and there are questions that are buzzing around in her head. Ones that she thinks this man, as Stiles’s dad, would have answers to that Stiles wouldn’t give her. At least, not willingly and not without looking like he’s had his heart pulled out of his chest.

“Mr. Stilinski…” She starts, only to stop, not sure how to bring it up. He pauses with his cup halfway to his mouth before he takes a cautious sip before raising an eyebrow and nodding at her to continue. She plays with the edge of the sweater she was wearing over the sleep shirt she’d brought, playing with the word combinations in her head before she finally settles on a question that she thinks is safe. “Mr. Stilinski, do you know where Derek Hale is?”

The question seems to completely throw the man, both eyebrows raised at her, as though her question was not computing at any level in his head. When staring at her doesn’t seem to answer his questions to hers, he shifts to cross his arms over his chest, leaning seemingly casually against the counter. But his eyes are sharp, inquisitive, _investigating._

“Derek Hale? Why do you want to know where _Derek Hale_ is?” he asks, incredulously and sounding distinctly like the question of the meaning of life would be easier to answer. Then he shakes his head, brow furrowing. “And how do you even _know_ about—“ He breaks off, glances at the ceiling before sighing heavily. “Stiles.”

Biting her lip, she nods slowly in agreement.

“Yeah. Stiles… Stiles told me about him. About…” He’s looking at her sharply again, eyes narrowed now under that furrowed brow.

…Shit. _Shit_. He didn’t know. He—

“Crap,” she curses, rubbing at her face with her sweater, dislodging her glasses and giving her something to do with her hands for at least a second. “I thought… Just, given the way he talks about his relationship with you, I. I mean, I thought he’d _told_ you.”

And, okay, she _really_ needs to keep her mouth shut because now he looks kind of murderous.

“Told me _what_ , exactly.” It’ not a question, so much as a demand for immediate answers. It’s a tone of voice that she’s heard J’Onn use more than once, and it’s _effective_ , dammit.

“ _Kara_ , you _didn’t_ ,” comes the voice from the doorway, keeping her from answering, and both the older man and the superhero turn to look at Zatanna. The magician’s hair is pulled back into a messy bun at the nape of her neck, her face free of her usual makeup, and she doesn’t look anywhere near awake enough for this.

And if she blushes brightly under that reprimand, under that judgmental dark gaze? Well, who can _blame_ her.

“I thought he _knew_ ,” she whisper-wails in return, burying her face in her sleeve-covered hands.

There’s a long, long moment of silence before the man sighs, heavy and tired. She peaks carefully through her fingers to see Mr. Stilinski has returned to cooking, head bowed over the pan. But his shoulders are bent, too, under an invisible weight. Something that’s been weighing on him for a while, apparently, given the way he’s almost _pointedly_ silent.

“You shouldn’t have said anything,” Zatanna tells her, far more gently than her tone had been earlier.

“It’s… it is what it is,” Mr. Stilinski waves off, making a physical show of the motion with the tongs in his hand. “I just… maybe I ignored it.” There’s a pause, and neither of them fill the brief silence, knowing he was about to continue. “No, I did ignore it. I hoped it would _go away_.”

“Why?” she can’t help but blurt, affronted on Stiles’s behalf. The look the older man gives her only has her straightening in her chair, unfolding from the chair to stand, chin raised. More superhero in that moment, more _Supergirl_ than Kara Danvers. “Why would you—I mean, he _loves_ —“

“Because I knew Derek would leave eventually. And Stiles would get hurt,” Mr. Stilinski breaks in, his words gentle though firm. “I had hoped for _Stiles’s_ sake that it would go away.”

Before she can open her mouth, Zatanna groans, covering her face with her small hands.

“Kara, tell me you _aren’t_.” The words are confusing for a moment before she flushes yet again, shuffling, hunching in on herself.

“I just… I just want to help,” she whispers, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She feels mildly guilty, but determined all the same.

“The only way you’re going to help on that front is to get Derek to come back. And, given what’s happened to that kid in this town, I don’t expect him to,” Mr. Stilinski tells her, soft and heavy. 

The way he says it has her pausing. Has her _thinking_. And Zatanna grumbles, nudges at her, tries to distract her. But she remains immovable, raising her chin to meet Mr. Stilinski’s eyes. They’re _old_ , old in a way that has nothing to do with age. Has nothing, in fact, to do with anything other than the weight of knowledge that rests on his shoulders as a father, a Sheriff, as someone _in the know_.

They’re eyes she sometimes sees in the mirror, sometimes reflected in her cousin’s face, sometimes in her sister’s. They’re the eyes of a good person who struggles, daily, with the will to continue to do the right thing. It makes her decision that much easier.

“He would for Stiles, though, I bet,” she declares, firm and strong and _knowing_. She doesn’t know how she knows, doesn’t want to even _guess_ how she knows, but she _does_ , dammit. It’s the feeling in the pit of her stomach that she sometimes get when she knows something is _right_. It’s a silly feeling, but a voice that sounds an awful lot like James’s tells her she’s _right_ ; that she needs to follow her gut.

“Would you really want to ask him that, though? His family was burned alive, here. His pack was killed, he was betrayed _twice_ here. This town has almost killed him, in the past,” Mr. Stilinski points out, frowning.

She deflates at his point, because he does have one. Psychologically, she’s not sure it’s a good idea. But then she remembers Stiles; remembers the pain he’s gone through, both because of what’s happened and what is left behind. She finds herself glancing at Zatanna, seeing a thoughtful look on the woman’s face, though nothing that would indicate that she can count on Zatanna for any help with this.

Not that she’s sure what she’s going to do about it, just yet.

“Look, I get that you want to help Stiles. That he’s… a _lot_ more tangled up in the Hale kid than I would like. But it’s not just _Stiles_ that needs to be thought about, here.” Mr. Stilinski’s voice is gentle as he sets a plate piled high with toast, eggs, and bacon in front of her, patting her shoulder warmly before he’s turning back to the stove.

“Not many people have thought about him, have they?” Zatanna asks softly, moving into the kitchen towards the pot of coffee. The magician mutters something under her breath, and the scent of fresh coffee fills the room. Curious, she glances over past Zatanna at the coffee pot, grinning when she sees the full pot.

“No, they haven’t. And the pack my kid is in has been the biggest culprit of that.” The older man sounds decidedly displeased with the thought, the sound of more eggs cooking filling the silence.

The whole idea is starting to look more and more like a bad one. That it’s something out of her scope, out of her reach. She can only imagine what would happen if the man were to come back before he was ready, after everything that has happened to him in this town. Any progress that the man has made in healing would likely be undone.

But maybe not? Her gut still tells her, her _heart_ still tells her, that if she just… talks to him, tells him that Stiles needs him, he’ll come back. And not even just to get tangled up in the mess that is the lives of Stiles and—what had Mr. Stilinski called it? The pack? Right. But, if he comes back, if he confronts the pain and the hurts and actually pulls the infection of it all out of his soul, maybe… Maybe it will help him heal _better_.

“Someone needs to think about him for once,” she murmurs softly around her food, tapping the end of her fork against her mouth, _thinking_. Her mind is going over ideas, ways she could track Derek down, that she could talk to him. Maybe not convince him to come back, but perhaps to let him know that if he did, he would have support. Some place to belong, people to belong _with_.

A chuckle, warm and fond has her blinking, looking into the sharp blue eyes of the sheriff, raising her eyebrows in silent askance.

“You really are a superhero,” he muses to her, offering the next plate up to Zatanna who takes it with a grin of gratitude. The comment has her eyebrows climbing higher, curious as to his reasoning.

“What do you mean?” she asks, and the man’s face softens, the lines deepening but not in a bad way. Yet again, she is reminded of Eliza, the strength of the woman who helped raise her.

“Because even after being told you can’t, you’re going to figure out a way to do it, but in a way that is helpful and beneficial to everyone, in a way that only you can.” The answer is meant to be simple, she’s sure. And it is; the words aren’t anything _special_. But it’s the strength of conviction behind them, the feeling of being enveloped in warmth by the words, that has her pausing and blinking at the man. At this _father_ who has opened his home to all of them, taken in stride who they say they are, believing them without a second thought because his son trusts them. It’s humbling, in so many ways.

“Thank you.” The words don’t feel like they’re enough, after she’s spoken them. Her mouth continues as her brain tries to catch up, but she goes with it to the best of her ability. “No one… I mean. I’m Supergirl. I know what I can do; I mean, I know I can lift a car up over my head, and  I can shoot _lasers_ out of my eyes. But that just makes me… super. No one… I don’t think anyone but Clark has ever understood what it means to be a _hero_.”

She stands and turns, offering her hand, sincere and grateful in so many ways. Zatanna is watching them both, eyes bright and pleased as Mr. Stilinski shakes her hand, warm and firm. Understanding has settled between them, and it’s a relief, really.

“I can also see where Stiles gets it from,” she adds as she sits back down, smiling softly.

Her only answer is a chuckle.

*=*-*=*

By the time everyone is up and breakfast is over, she still hasn’t come up with much of a plan. Not one that is workable, that won’t result in her likely getting thrown into a wall or something. And, really, she’d rather keep property damage on this Earth to a bare minimum, if she could. Still, though, she wants, _needs_ to figure something out. The others had all scattered, though she isn’t sure to where. Considering four of them look like _dead people_ , she doesn’t entirely know where they _could_ go without starting some kind of scene. She’d been offered by the sheriff to go to the station with him, but she’d declined for the moment; the cute officer who was, apparently, in the know and that had come to get Donovan last night had already taken her official statement. And she didn’t know what she’d do at the station, otherwise.

For right now, though, she finds herself sitting on the edge of Stiles’s bed, turning the printed pages carefully of what Stiles had called “The Argent Beastiary”. The unofficial title had caused her to frown, starting to say something about it being _rude_ , until she’d actually started reading the thing. This was _nothing_ like the alien database that Krypton had had; it was genuinely a beastiary, a compilation of stories and pseudo-scientific information about how to kill the creatures listed within. The largest section was on werewolves, of course, and she reads over it several times, carefully.

Part way through her second read through, Stiles’s phone goes off, a song she doesn’t recognize breaking the silence that has fallen between them. He jerks out of his meditation, having to breathe a moment before he can pick up his phone without accidentally turning it inside out, something she’s seen him do when accidentally startled out of meditation before.

He makes a motion for her to be quiet as he greets the caller.

“Hey, Malia,” he sighs, a small smile on his face as he unfolds himself from his sitting position on the floor, flopping inelegantly into his chair.

She does her best not to eavesdrop on anything more than Stiles’s side of the conversation, concentrating more on the book in her hands, pausing a moment on the different colors of eyes that a werewolf can have. Just in time, too, for Stiles to switch to speaker as he settles in front of his computer, confusion and curiosity on his face as he begins to type away.

“So, Tracy had this book?” he asks, raising his voice a little louder to be picked up by the microphone on the phone he’s set on his desk at his elbow.

“ _Yeah. It’s called The Dread Doctors by T. R. McCammon. I read it last night; it’s not very long but._ ” Here, the teen girl on the phone is hesitating, as though trying to come up with the words to describe the issue. To describe what she read. “ _It was beyond weird, Stiles. But, seriously? It was too close to what’s going on right now. I’m meeting up with Lydia in a little bit to show it to her; you want to meet with us?_ ”

Here, Stiles hesitates, before releasing a sigh, leaning back in his chair, pressing his fingers to his bottom lip. Like he, too, is thinking of a way to come up with the right words.

“I’m not actually at school. I, uh. I had some unexpected visitors from out of town, and my dad let me stay to make sure everyone settled in,” he explains, typing away at his computer. From the angle where she’s sitting, she can see the back of his ear and not much else. Still, she recognizes the tension in his shoulders; something isn’t sitting right with her young friend. And if Malia weren’t on the phone, if she hadn’t been motioned into silence, she would ask about it. Check to make sure he was okay. That whatever it was that he’d been meditating on didn’t follow his psyche back into the fully waking world.

“ _Wait, visitors? I didn’t know you knew anyone outside of us. It’s not like you have other friends._ ” The words are blunt, uncaring, and they make her pause, anger at the implication in her words.

She hasn’t honestly known Stiles all that long. Hasn’t had a chance to _really_ get to know him in the way you do when you know someone for a long, long time. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t count Stiles amongst her friends. It doesn’t mean that being privy to her secret doesn’t makes him border-line _family_. She thinks she might be overreacting a little; Stiles has talked about Malia in the past, about how she has only recently returned to her human form, and how she can be more than a little blunt and seemingly uncaring for human niceties.

 _Still_ , though.

It doesn’t help that Stiles’s response is a huff and a shake of his head that Malia can’t see.

“Hey, I _have_ other friends! And not all of them live in Beacon Hills, okay? A bunch of them are in town right now, as a matter of fact. And… And I’d like the pack to meet all of them, at some point, just not _right now_.” The last is firm, added when Malia makes a sound on the other end of the line. “Look, I’ll look more into this, see what I can find. Just from a general search, though, I don’t think I’m going to find much.”

There’s a heavy sigh of resignation that comes down the line, full of static to go with it. It makes her cringe when her sensitive ears pick up on the higher-pitched microphone noise. She’s rubbing at her ears and misses what else Malia says, but Stiles has turned to her by the time she’s done rubbing at them.

“So. That was Malia,” she drawls, wry and not exactly _happy_. If she hadn’t already had a Plan that was, actually, not really a plan at this point, she would be working on making sure that Stiles broke up with the girl. Malia is nice enough, based on stories Stiles has told her, but that little interaction? The demanding nature, the automatic putdown? Yeah. _No_.

“Look. She’s… She’s not really good with human interaction, alright? And she basically has no filter to speak of. Just… if and when you meet her, don’t take everything she says at face value. Or personally, for that matter,” he tells her, almost urgently, brow furrowing. He’s concerned about his two group of friends getting along. Considering it hasn’t been all that long since she had that concern, herself, she understands.

“She’s still… I mean. You could do better,” she reminds, setting aside the beastiary and crossing her arms loosely over her chest.

Silence falls between them, his hand pushing through his messy hair, not quite meeting her eyes. And she does know him at least a little bit, well enough to know by the way he’s not looking at her he doesn’t agree. It’s heartbreaking and frustrating and she wants to shake the stuffing out of him, though not literally.

“I was in love with Lydia Martin for about 8 years, and I’ve been in love with Derek for going on 2, now. I don’t exactly have a good track record with liking people who I have any, _any_ chance of actually obtaining,” he tells her, caustic and aiming to hurt. Though, really, not to hurt _her_.

And that’s the real kicker with all of this; he isn’t trying to aim any of his attacks at her, not even close. All of the potshots are aimed at himself. It isn’t helpful, and it makes her low-simmer angry with him for doing it.

“That doesn’t mean that you should be with someone who regularly belittles you, no matter _what_ their situation is,” she reminds him, waspishly, scowling at him. Tightening the way her arms are crossed over her chest, even going so far as to stand so she has _some_ kind of leverage in the conversation.

He doesn’t rise to meet her, only rolls his eyes and turns away from her, pointedly ignoring her. She grumbles under her breath, scowling as she stomps her way downstairs, looking for something to do that isn’t near her source of annoyance, at the moment.

What she finds as inspiration comes, surprisingly, from Sergeant Stewart. Who, okay, has told her multiple times just to call him John but it’s hard to remember. Just like it’s hard to call Agent Bertinelli and Agent Whitmore, Helena and Courtney respectively. Their titles deserve respect; they do good work with the DEO and she feels greatly like calling them that in what is essentially an official setting is disrespectful.

Still, though, the large black man is looking through the Stilinski fridge with a frown, as though its contents are offensive. When she does a quick X-ray of the lack of contents, she can see why.

“You know what, I’m hungry. I think I’m going to go find someplace for us to get food,” she declares, loud enough for the sergeant to turn to her curiously. Based on the curiosity on both Zatanna and Agent Whitmore’s faces when they appear, they heard her, too.

“Food sounds like an excellent plan,” Zatanna declares, grinning for a moment, before disappearing. The magician reappears a moment later with a few folded bills in one hand, offering them up for her to take. She takes them slowly, brow furrowing curiously.

“I should probably get everyone’s orders, once we figure out where to go,” she muses with a grin.

“Surprise us; just remember that you’re feeding a teenager and two Kryptonians, so you’ll need to get a lot of food,” Zatanna reminds, shrugging. The two DEO agents glance at each other before giving slow nods of agreement.

“But… Okay. Where do I go for food?” she asks, at a loss. She can _literally_ get food from anywhere in the world; the ‘where’ is basically unlimited, so long as she’s careful.

The others look thoughtful, because they _know_. They know all the places she could go. Then, of course, Zatanna is grinning broadly.

“I am feeling like a pastrami reuben today; there’s a deli in Dallas that I love to go to when I’m there. If it exists here, grab us food from there?” Zatanna suggests, looking rather excited at the prospect of getting to eat a sandwich.

Luckily, it’s the kind of enthusiasm that is contagious and she grins in return. Plus, there’s some relief in going someplace she’s never been, and won’t be recognized. If that were an issue here, which it honestly _isn’t_.

“Sure, okay. What’s it called?” she asks, and is rather bemused when a piece of paper sparks into existence between Zatanna’s fingers. The magician hands it to her, grinning broadly.

She looks over the instructions on how to get there, further bemused when she finds them to be written in such a way as to make it easy for her to find from the air. She shakes her head and moves to leave, only to pause at the hand on her shoulder. Zatanna’s face is solemn when the older woman gives her a nod.

“Be careful, okay?” The magician’s face is anxious, not something that she’s used to seeing on the normally put-together woman’s face. But she gives a nod and a warm, encouraging smile.

“Of course, I’m always careful. Besides, I’m not going to be in Beacon Hills; what could go wrong?”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Kara really asked that question. And, because I am an evil author, there is actually a part between this one and the one where you get to see what _kind_ of trouble she actually gets into ;)
> 
> Also a note on the 'argument' that Stiles and Kara have over the relationship b/n Malia and Stiles: This does not express my feelings for their relationship. Nor does it really show what their relationship is really like; this is Kara, thinking about their relationship. It'll get hashed out a little better later, but for now...
> 
> I want to thank each and every one of you who has commented, who has left kudos, or who has even just kind of zipped through. I know it's been a bit since I last posted; to be quite honest, I've had this piece done for a while. But shit hit the fan in RL, and I'm still trying to kind of pick up the pieces. But! I do have up through 15 written. I have also done a TON of plotting, putting pieces together and tying threads and generally just hashing out future parts in this saga. I hope you guys enjoy where this story is going as much as I am. 
> 
> You can also find me on [tumblr ](http://pinkybitesu.tumblr.com/)


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